Lovestruck
by Pronghorn.Of.Prophecy
Summary: An ode to Zen and a sweet, sleepy Christmas morning.


{Author's note: Please enjoy this piece while listening to this -

watch?v=LmaIIbfQB0c

It is _truly_ a magical experience this way. ^^}

We're both creative souls. And I suppose that's why we're drawn together.

He can beautifully portray characters and physically tell stories through motions and mannerisms, he can breathe life into the words on the page and I … I _write_ those words. I like his way of bringing stories into reality, making them as _real_ as they could possibly be; he likes my way of pulling them from the murky depths of my imagination and hammering out the details, the plot, the characters …

 _Like a swordsmith forging a mighty blade for the holy knight, our worlds coincide._

I like his ever constant brilliance, the way he seems to come to life at the barest hint of a song; he likes my underhand eloquence, the way I can string words together to spin a mystic tale through a process similar to fermenting fine wines.

He sits at the keys of the piano and I sit at the keys of my computer, both of us tap, tap, tapping away at different tempos and different rhythms, two vastly different worlds and yet … they're not so different at all. We feel the same frustrations when inspiration fails us, the same joys when things start coming together, the same wistful feeling of having everything sitting at the tips of our tongues but not wanting to put itself together _just_ yet.

Yin and Yang, if you think like that. Our jobs naturally create our chemistry for us.

But it isn't _just_ that.

I love his confidence, how he can be so open and easily speak with others, even if it's a bit overbearing at times. I know he uses it as a shield of sorts, a mask to hide his insecurities, a way to push his past away and keep himself afloat, so I get why he won't ever shut up about himself. He can't help it. But I like that he can see positives in himself even after years of being told he would never be good enough. His self-confidence may be slightly forced, but he's found some of it to be true. His over-exuding self-certainty almost gives _me_ confidence too, it's contagious in a way that I can't understand.

I love his kindness, how he looks out for others to the best of his ability. He had me head over heels after a single conversation when I first joined the RFA. It wasn't even anything special, he just wanted to make me feel welcome, but his pure intentions had really come through despite the disadvantages of communicating through text. It was like he knew me before I even said a word. Bizarre, I had thought, but something in my heart had just ... _bloomed._

I love his passion, for his work and for his friends.

He throws himself into acting. Sometimes playing a character for an entire day just to understand them better, sometimes reading scripts eighty times over to find proper inflection points; he pushes for perfection even if he's exhausted. Even if everyone is satisfied by his performance, he'll _still_ find something to fuss over. ( _And that's something we're both guilty of …_ )

He supports Jaehee, hoping that she'll come to trust herself more and take a leap of faith. He watches over Yoosung and Seven almost like they're his brothers, giving Yoosung advice on how to get out there in the world and encouraging Seven to take better care of himself. And he may seem to dislike Jumin on the surface but it isn't really _Jumin_ that makes him upset, but something else … Something he's still trying to work through.

I love his courage, how he tries to face his fears and look for better days even when the weight of his decisions is crushing him with anxiety.

I love his patience, how he would flirt but would _never_ push anything on me, how he would remember boundaries even if I was completely ( _and so stupidly_ ) oblivious to them.

 _I love …_

I love how everyday is _never_ dull with him. How he lights up my life like no one else ever has. How when I'm with him, my heart seizes up and I can't seem to breathe right. And even thoughts of him alone can turn any day from worthless and exhausting to pure bliss.

 _I love him._

I love him, _whole and entire._

 _I'm helpless. Hopeless._

 _Completely, and utterly, lovestruck._

 **Basil's POV**

On this Christmas morning, I woke up at 3 a.m. with a sudden burst of inspiration, like some higher being decided to visit me in the wee hours of the morning just to jot down an idea, a blurb of some sorts.

It started as a simple, blurry note, but as I became more and more aware of the concepts and wording, my brain caught up and I was wandering into the living room and logging onto my computer without a second thought. The words were almost foreign, they didn't feel like mine but simply some semblance of my feelings mixed with the perfect prose of an invisible literary god possessing me.

It didn't make sense. But I loved it all the same.

 _I concern myself sometimes._

I sit on the couch with my laptop propped up on my knees, silently thanking whoever was out there helping me write and admiring the soft glowing lights of our little Christmas tree. My eyes wandered to the window, watching as the snowflakes flittered and danced on the wind.

 _3 a.m. is a good time to be alive._

" _Basil?_ "

I shut my laptop and see Zen standing in the doorway of our bedroom.

"Oh, uh ... hi," I say softly, putting my laptop and various scraps of indecipherable written notes under a pillow and out of Zen's line of sight. He knows I like to work at ungodly hours but I feel like it worries him, so I generally try to work without disturbing him.

He yawns and rubs his eyes sleepily as he makes his way over to the couch, dragging the blanket behind him like a child, "Are you ok?"

I nod. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just–" My eyes flick back to the pillow concealing my laptop as I pause– "Lost in thought, I guess."

He simply hums in response, then sits down and latches onto me like a giant sloth.

I can't help but laugh, "What are you doing?"

Settling his cheek on top of my head and pulling the blanket over the both of us, he mumbles, "If you're not going back to bed, I'll bring the bed to you … "

My cheeks flush despite myself, "Dear God, what am I going to do with you?"

" _Love me,_ " he purrs, pulling me even closer. " _Never leave my side, my princess._ "

" _I wouldn't dream of it,_ " I whisper, marveling in the warmth of his arms. His presence just soothes the "anxious cryptid writer" vibes right out of me. Like how you'd smooth the sheets on a bed, like petting a sleeping cat on a warm, summer afternoon. "You're my healing potion, remember?"

He responds with a dreamy hum and I relax in his arms, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slowly falls back to sleep.

 _There's never a dull moment with you, my love._

I feel my eyelids grow heavier and heavier as the time passes infinitely slow, but I don't want this moment to end. I look to the window and notice the snowflakes have stopped their dance, nothing but a lonely moon in the sky in this peaceful time inbetween.

I let out a contented sigh, pulling the blanket tighter around the both of us as my mind finally decides to give in for the night. " _Good night, my angel,_ " I say, feeling a dopey, sleep-deprived smile spread across my face, " _and merry Christmas._ "


End file.
